


Free Floating

by TamarElmensdorp



Category: Original Work
Genre: Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23630587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TamarElmensdorp/pseuds/TamarElmensdorp
Kudos: 1





	Free Floating

It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday afternoon. It’s funny, when you think of it, I didn’t really think it was a beautiful, sunny day at all. Sure, the sun was shining and the temperature was just touching upon the twenties. People would say that that’s what a beautiful day is. And it’s just the sort of thing you start saying yourself. Even when you don’t really feel what the others around you feel.  
People start to go outside more. They used to. Now we were all restricted to the confines of our gardens, balconies, or if you were less lucky, open windows. None of it mattered to me, though. I am strictly an indoor girl. Have been for a super long time too. I do remember going outside as a teen, but that was maybe more a not-being-at-home thing than a being-outside thing. I don’t really know. What I do know is that now I prefer being inside over being outside.  
Inside is where the comfortable couch is. It’s where my cat is (she’s just like me; an inside girl). Inside is where my music lives.  
Yes, I know, headphones are a thing, and music can be anywhere you want it to be. But I don’t really like headphones. I use them when I want the world to go away. But I don’t always feel like shutting off. Especially not when my kids are home. I want to always be able to hear them when they need me. I will never wear headphones when they are still up. Yes, my sweet babies, I’m here and I hear you.  
So, anyway, it was a Saturday afternoon, I had my muse playing in the background and I was trying to write. I think I love writing. I’m not really sure, though. I haven’t tried writing in a super long time. You’d think that if you love something, you’d want to do it all the time. I have all the time in the world to write: no job, kids are at school most of the day (in normal times they would be). Yet, I’m not writing.  
But this particular Saturday I was. One of my writer friends (how awesome is it that I have honest to God writing friends? Friends who write books as a profession) was feeling insecure about her own writing. Fearing that it would leave her again, or that she’d lose direction. To show her that it’s absolutely okay to lose direction, I started writing again myself. Just typing away on my laptop. No idea where I was heading. No idea at all what this story would be about. Just writing for the joy of writing. To try and figure out if I still really loved writing, or if it was just the stories that I loved. Stories that others were way better at writing down.  
One thing I was absolutely certain about was that I loved reading. Most of my days were filled with reading, listening to music, and just laying on the couch. Oh, and eating. That’s a thing I don’t really like. I know that my eating habits aren’t healthy, yet I still can’t make myself do better. Ah well, there are worse things in life, I suppose.  
In the writing I was doing that afternoon, I had already lost direction, even though I had already done much better than I expected to do. I had come to the point where I no longer knew what to write. Where I get up and start doing things I usually don’t like doing as an excuse for not writing. Doing the dishes, vacuuming, doing laundry. I guess you could come up with more such chores that you usually find ways for to not have to do them. Life is funny that way. Procrastinating.  
This time, I would not get up and do stuff, though. I was determined to write a story with a begin, middle and end. The end didn’t have to be a logical point to end up, but I wanted it to feel like a good ending anyway. I knew I could do that. Maybe. For my friend’s sake.  
Writing, eating, listening to my beautiful muse. Oh God, my beautiful muse. It’s weird how close I feel to them. I know that I don’t know them at all, and never will. Yet somehow they feel like my closest friends. Music is way more than just the lyrics. They can sing some political song, yet make it feel so personal. Well, at least my muse can do that. They make me feel all sorts of things. Deep inside. Things that might be the exact opposite of what the lyrics seem to be about. But then, they really aren’t. They just hide things inside. Inside the lyrics. Inside the music. And it all just makes me feel.  
It’s hard to explain why I love my muse so much. Why it’s them, and not someone else. I know there are more people around making great music. There are others that I love very much too. Yet they are not my muse. I could listen to them all day, every day and still not get bored of them. Many people don’t understand that. They tell me: but there is so much more! Yes, I know, but I’m just not done listening to this band yet. And to be honest, I hope I never will be.  
It’s obsessive.  
I have this obsessive gene, I guess. Had that ever since I was a teen, probably even before. Latching on to something and not letting go again. Good thing my obsessions were never about alcohol or drugs. I would have been dead by now if they had been. No, my obsessions were always of the less lethal kind, mostly bands. But also this nagging feeling, constantly somewhere deep inside, that I wanted to write a book.  
For some years I have been able to convince myself that I was a reader and not a writer. It came back, though, the wanting to be a writer. And I did write. I even shared my writing, had others read it (super scary). It will never become the book that I have wanted for so long. My mind is too much of a mess to write a story long enough to be called a book. It just isn’t cohesive enough to write a long story that has a beginning, middle and ending that make sense.  
Free floating.


End file.
